The 75th Hunger Games: Perfection
by TheBestGemini
Summary: A Moment of perfection was worth the effort. A moment was the most you could ever expect from perfection. What happens when that moment passes and reality come swinging back with the 75th Hunger Games. The stakes as well as the Quell have changed in light of only one winner of the 74th Hunger Games but the rebellion isn't gone just yet. SYOT OPEN


The cannon's droll echoes flatly across Panem, rolling out of screens as efficient as a well-placed bullet to each and every hopeful heart. Silently impersonal, yet personally ending it all the same.

Most drop to their knees begging, pleading, crying out at the injustice. Poverty extinguishes any sparks in places like this, and yet it is where most the kindling lies, again, smothered. The young flames simply beat out by the same rug just ripped out from underneath them. They knew this would happen, it always does, but this time it was supposed to be different.

Why is it never different? They do not comfort each other; they who drop are all kneeling on the same unforgiving floor. These are the ones who had the most at stake; a stake now protruding from their gut, dripping blood onto the floor. How inconsiderate, staining the 74th Hunger Games like that.

What a shame.

Some chins are held high, high enough to keep back the tears. Those are not to be shed here in front of it all. They are the ones who take the high road. No hysterics. No waterworks. No words. Not here ;they hoard these things for a later time that may never come. They do not let go, simply postdate it for another failure, not willing to give up on this one just yet. Teeth gritted, eyes narrowed, chin jutted high, just high enough to look indifferent to the ones that were watching but not too high.

Oh no, not high enough to look strong, no. That would be a mistake because the districts were not strong. It was they who were to be the sheep, docile, indifferent, helpless. Strong was not a word afforded to their sheep only wolves had that privilege, and they all knew who the wolves are.

Few rejoiced in the ashes secretly hoping the phoenix was truly dead this time. Did they support the young bird when it was still alive, yes. This does not change the facts however. The fact that they know how this all works. They have been here before.

They want hope, change, freedom but they see the price tag and are not willing to risk the ones they love. They know what it takes to change and they are tired of the death, lies, punishments that further a coup that does not even make it door before being put down. They know the Capitol will give them all the rope they need as long as they stick to hanging themselves. So they hope this is the end of the rebellion, for their own sake.

All of this took place in a instant and all it took was five seconds to start that instant. It only took five seconds for Cato firmly plant a dagger into Peeta's throat. The cannon was immediate.

That instant never ends.

It continues as Katniss turns on Cato, only to be interrupted by trumpet of grandeur meant for any moment except this. Titles were declared, titles no longer wanted.

The winners of the 74th Annual Hunger Games Katniss Everdeen and Ca-

The proclamation cut short by a single arrow. She did not regret it, not a single bit.

Now I am in charge of this shitty situation. I am placed in the delicate circumstances of figuring out what Quarter Quell to implement based off our predicament. My lush surrounding tend to distract me instead of actually helping like I thought they may. My fluffy white swivel chair lulls me into a false sense of comfort, warm and cozy.I want to take a nap, my eyes flutter. Once. Twice. My head sags back against the cloud like head rest. It reminds me of a sheep I saw traveling through District 10 last reaping.

Off task again.

I should have stayed at the office. I decided to work from home in hopes of getting this done in time for the closely approaching deadline. No such luck, Opening my eyes back to the nauseating black and white room cluttered with stuff I never use, I grabbed my coffee only to set it back down thinking of a better plan. I slide the bottom drawer open with a flourish showcasing my secret weapon.

Fireball.

I forgo the shot glass and go straight for the bottle. One shot, two shots-

My eyes once watering with sleep now tear up for another reason. However, I am awake. I need to get this Quell plan done.

I should never have been the one in charge of these plans it should have gone to Seneca. Now that he's dead the plans should fall to the new Head Gamemaker Plutarch, but here I am. Just last year I was in charge of mutations; my true passion what I have studied and what I am an expert in. I was the best at what I did now they are dragging me out of my wheelhouse to manage the Quell.

Plutarch is counting on me; the mind behind the figure. As his assistant all these plans fall on me. He already is behind due to Peeta not making it out now everything that was once set in stone is now washed away; a clean slate that I now have to fill.

I must come up with a Quell that appears to keep moral down from the Capitols perspective yet still aide the rebellion in the long run especially after it took that hard hit.

I continue to swivel back and forth in my chair, wishing I was back to the mutation sector thinking up something miraculous to create instead of sitting here spinning in a chair like a child.

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth and back an-

I've got it.

The reaping pool will be cut down only to the person, or people who has their name in the most times.

This will anger the Districts due to the targeting of the poor as well as giving hope to an underdog victory. Hopefully this goes as planned.

_Hey guys! To submit a tribute fill out this form and PM it to me. I already have this whole thing plotted out and the first five plot chapters written all I need is the tributes! Everything will be on in my Bio._


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